Narcise was aware of him watching her as she stepped back and removed her hands from those warm planes, then realized there was no way to pull the shirt over his head while his wrists were chained.
“Cut it if you like,” he said, reading her thoughts. “I have many more.”
“As you will,” she replied, but instead of reaching for one of the daggers—which had been used on her—she grasped the shirt at his throat and ripped. The heavy linen made a satisfying, powerful sound as it tore, and left his chest bare to her avid eyes. “It’s no wonder Suzette talks about you the way she does,” she commented, and tore one of the sleeves free, jolting his arm against the wall.
The chains clinked with her violent movement, but he made no attempt to pull or wiggle in his confinement. She eyed the bulge of muscle in his arm as his elbow bent in an L shape, his wrist fixed at the level of his head. His skin, even beneath his shirt, wasn’t the normal pasty-white of the sun-banned Dracule, but was golden, as if tanned by a sun that never touched it.
“In what way does Suzette talk about me? I do hope it’s—” his breath caught as she plunged her fangs into the soft inside of his bicep, and he gave a short, sharp groan as his lifeblood burst free.
The taste and scent of his skin, so silky and soft around that firm bulge of muscle, mingled erotically with the rush of coppery blood over her tongue, and Narcise closed her eyes as a long-subdued desire rushed through her. His bare chest brushed against her cheek, and the long line of his legs paralleled her body as she pressed flush against him.
The hard rise of his cock nudged her hip, so close to that suddenly throbbing, hot and damp center between her legs. She held onto his forearm with one hand, and the other planted flat on the rough hair covering his chest. Texture, taste, scent…and his lean, muscular body sandwiched between her and the wall.
She pulled away after two long drags on his veins, swiping her tongue over the wound in a delicate little farewell, and looked up at him.
His eyes burned bright red-gold, and yet the centers were dark and intense. He had a sort of pained half-smile fixed on his full lips, a bit of fang showing. For a moment, she almost shifted to cover them with hers, to taste him in yet another, more intimate way.
But she didn’t. Instead, testing herself and testing him, she stepped back, realizing that her breathing had become unsteady and shallow. Her nipples swelled behind the bindings she wore beneath the suddenly too-tight tunic.
“More,” he said, his eyes compelling her. “More, Narcise. I want to feel you against me.”
She saw no reason to hesitate, and peeled off the close-fitting tunic. The freedom to do what she wished, to be in control and to enjoy the pleasure of the moment, emboldened her. Flinging the shirt aside, she untucked the binding around her breasts and began to unroll it, conscious of his intense regard.
Her relief at the release of her bosom was echoed softly by his rough intake of air when she pulled the last strip away and at last jounced free. She raised her arms, feeling the pleasant sensation of her breasts lift prettily.
“More lovely than I’d imagined,” he said, the timbre of his voice skimming over her like a low and deep caress. “Will you take your hair down?”
“For one who has given over control,” she said wryly, “you certainly have many requests, Cale.” But nevertheless, sparked even further by her power and the pleasure simmering beneath the surface, she began to pull the pins from the huge knot of her hair.
“My given name is Giordan,” he said. “Use it.”
Narcise paused in the process, one heavy hank of hair tumbling down her back while the rest remained anchored in a sagging bundle. It was the first time she’d heard that tone of command from him. She found it curious…and unsettling.
As if reading her thoughts, he spoke again. “Very well, then,cher. No real intimacy yet. No kissing, no familiar names. When you’ve come to trust me, then I would that you’d call me Giordan. But to me, already you are Narcise.” His eyes blazed fiercely, not with lust or desire, as before, but now with annoyance.
“I think you’re mad, Cale,” she said. “We’ve hardly met, and barely spoken. How can you say such absurd things when you don’t even know me?” Of course, she was thinking of Rivrik, back when life was life and not infinite rote…and much easier than this. Back when she knew she would die someday, and when she was naive and young and in love with someone who truly knew her.
Cale gave what passed for as a shrug, and despite the awkward angle of his arms, it was smooth and laced with conceit. “Sometimes, a man just knows.” His eyes fastened on her, the glow receding into an intense brown-blue gaze.
Unbalanced and unsettled by the certainty in his voice, she yanked a few more pins from her hair. Narcise was mollified when she saw the way his eyes narrowed in appreciation as she combed her fingers through the thick tresses.
Her hair was one of the reasons for her great vanity, for it hung to her hips. All one length, it was a pure blue-black, thick and smooth as a waterfall even after being bound up in braids or twists. Next to her pearly skin and brilliant blue-violet eyes, the color was intense and striking.
Now she stood there, bare from her ankle-length breeches up, her hair swinging around her shoulders and waist. His eyes never moved from her as Narcise came closer, feeling the gentle sway of her bare breasts, nipples tight and high and throbbing to be touched. Her fangs were still extended and she allowed their tips to show just below her upper lip.
As she drew near, she scented his arousal, smelled it rolling off him in waves, and her stomach tightened and pitched in response. Lush and heady, it filled her nose and swelled her veins, settling into her so that she swelled and dampened and throbbed. She pulled out of the pleasure for a moment to remind herself: this was so different from the other times, when the overwhelming scent of lust was pungent and stinging, and as repugnant as the bitter smell of death.
Now, the chamber was filled with the scents of desire, male and female alike, mixing and stewing together to create an even headier perfume. The last bit of his lifeblood lingered in the air and she sniffed, drawing it in, tasting it once again.
“Narcise,” he whispered, his voice taut and low.
She came to him, her hands settling on his hips, then sliding up over the ridges of his belly and the rise of the planes of his chest…and brought herself closer. She arched a bit, lifting her breasts so that her hard, sensitive nipples brushed against the wiry hair there, rubbing lightly back and forth against him as their bellies and thighs pressed together. The light prickling sensation against her breasts and nipples was pleasant and tingly, offset by the hard, hot length of his cock against the rise of her pubis.
His chest moved against her, expanding as he drew in deep, ragged breaths, and when she became bold enough to look up into his eyes, the stark desire there shot a spike of lust in her own belly. His lips were parted, showing the sharp, strong gleam of his fangs. She felt a little shiver of want, imagining those sharp points sliding into her skin, and the glorious release of her surging blood over his warm lips.
The soft clink of chains, every nuance familiar to her, told Narcise precisely what he was doing—shifting, clenching his fingers and tensing his muscles. But he wasn’t struggling to free himself. He didn’t pull or twist as she’d done, trying to loosen them.
Now, she slid her hands back down along his torso, pausing to unlace his breeches and drawers, and then tugged them down over his lean hips. His cock surged free as soon as it was able, thick and tumescent, and Cale gave a soft sigh of relief at its release.
